The other Poochyena didn't go away.
It'd been a challenge to get back to drinks in the first place; Dave'd been turned away from the bar at first, politely informed if not in so many words that he looked like seven kinds of shit, and pointed to a bathhouse. He'd scrubbed the blood out of his fur, eaten an Oran Berry, and only then finally, finally made his way back to the Cauldron and ordered a goddamn whisky. But now he was on his second one and Mia had been munching on a steak sandwich for a while (apparently familiars couldn't really eat, but she just did it anyway, chunks of food murkily visible floating inside the goop of her chest), and still, still, the Shadow was lying curled up against Mia, shivering. Just the best part of this fucking evening.